it wasnt a mistake
by Batbae
Summary: Tim drake is often bullied at school. His tormentor does terrible, terrible things, and Tim lets him, sees the justice in it. But one night Tim snaps, and he gets the ultimate revenge. Though his revenge is sweet then, the moment of madness changes the entire course of Tim's future, throws his world into chaos.
1. Chapter 1

One:

Tim Drake flinched as another fist hit him in the jaw. He flinched as another one came down on his temple, then again as an open palm slapped him across the face. This hand of course, belonged to his long time tormentor, Jason Finch. Jason was tall for his age. He wasn't fat, but he was thick, with incredibly large muscles in his arms, shoulders, and neck. He had brown eyes, and blonde hair down to his shoulders. His forehead looked way too large for the rest of his face, but Jason wasn't an ugly boy. In fact there were girls in the next year level who swooned over his looks. It was his personality which left him without a girlfriend. Tim's own school bully.

Naturally, the robin could have taken Jason down in two moves, but Tim, Tim was just the weak nerd. Tim didn't cry out whenever Jason beat him up. Not anymore. And he didn't talk about it to anyone, especially not his father figure. If Bruce found out, he would probably stop letting Robin go with Batman on patrols, since if Tim can't handle a simple bully, there's no way his persona could hold his weight against someone like killer croc or poison ivy. Not after what happened to the last Robin... So no. Tim let Jason Finch do as he pleased, no matter how many bruises or aching bones or terrible wounds he received.

There was a time long ago when Tim began receiving a few cuts and gashes from Jason Finch. Jason often used his fists or feet, but decided to expand his repertoire of torture to include knives, rocks, burns from cigarettes or other flamed objects, and occasionally the threat of a gun on Tim's temple. His targeting of the young Drake was unmotivated as far as Tim was aware, but it had been going on for long enough that Tim stopped questioning it. Years and years of torture, and minor slip-ups on patrol made Tim's daily beatings a regular, completely normal event in his schedule. Sure, maybe he used to cry out, but that stopped when Jason brought a pair of pliers to school and the warning to Tim; "whenever you open your mouth, the pliers go in, and a tooth comes out." Tim said he was going to tell the principal then, but was silenced by the pliers being smashed into the side of his head, above the ear, and well within the thick part of his hair, (Sure Jason was a bully, but he was most certainly not stupid.) Tim opened his mouth to cry out, but the feeling of the pliers thrust into his mouth made him close it again quickly.

Every Student at Gotham Academy knew about Jason's 'ordeal' with Tim, and for this reason, Tim had no friends. The students feared Jason Finch. They saw how he treated Tim, watched from a distance. Even teachers diverted their eyes when they saw Jason attacking Tim ("boys will be boys" they always said,) and Tim... He just sat there and took it. He saw a twisted justice in it, (if he's beating me up, he isn't hurting anyone else,) and it's for this reason he would let Jason Finch beat him, slash at him, even shoot at him with a BB gun, until the end of his life if that's what it took. Because that was a part of Batman's code, his sacrifice; to take whatever is thrown at him or anyone else for the good of the civilians, or in Tim's case, his cohort.

Alfred always asked Tim about his day. The moment Tim got into the back of the shiny black car, Alfred would ask "so how was your day, master Timothy?" and every day it was the same reply. Tim would plant a big false grin on his face, and talk about the best parts, like the project he had in chemistry (which he didn't have a partner for,) and the beautiful girl he spoke to (saw) in his English class, and of course the tragic abuse a student received at lunch break who was most certainly not him. And as always, Alfred described how such a student should tell a teacher, or even the principal about it. And as always, Tim agreed, and asked what was for dinner that night.

Robin tripped on patrol one night.

"Batman please. it was just a loose tile, that's all" cried Robin. Batman gave Tim a glare that removed any sense of comfort from his young partner.

"She got away robin. Harley got away. YOU were chasing her, and she got away. Our ONLY chance to plant a tracker on her. A simple tracker with a complicated adhesive, which you could have thrown on her easily, and not only did you fail in your mission to plant said tracker, but you lost sight of her, because... You tripped on a loose tile." Robin slumped before Batman's eyes, looking away into a corner somewhere to the right of the Bat. The larger man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and said to the boy wonder "Do not let it happen again, Tim. One more slipup like that, and you're going to receive a lot more than a warning. Now go." and Tim got up, limped to the elevator, and out of the cave.

In his room, on his bed, Tim pulled off the fabric of his leggings and discovered that the stitches he had given himself to fix the gash in his thigh had been reopened. This wasn't the first blunder Tim had committed on patrol thanks to Jason Finch. Tim mentally thanked the first robin for teaching him how to tie a bandage in a way that even if he started bleeding out, he could excuse himself from class and restitch himself in the bathroom. Of course that was taught to him for Robin related injuries at school, not school related injuries as Robin.

This wasn't the first time Tim needed to fix one of Jason Finch's marks after a patrol, hell it wasn't even the most severe. it was however, the one with the most noticeable results. Tim was weak on that rooftop. His leg hurt so much, and he tripped. He felt the stitches being ripped out of his skin, and felt his legs scrape along the tiles, knees falling as if knee boarding across the roof, over the gutter and off the side towards the alleyway below him. He hadn't ripped the suit, but his knees were definitely shredded in some way beneath the fabric. Tim's grapple saved him, but the mission wasn't able to be saved. Tim had an easy excuse tonight, a believable one compared to some other nights, (I mean it batman, a hand came out to the sewer with a knife and sliced my calf!) Tim was certainly improving his lies, and gave himself a mental pat on the back for it. He felt that much was justified.

The next day at school saw Tim there early, as always. Tim liked this time of the day, because of the people he could be around. Not talk to of course, but just sit and listen to; the breathing, the conversations of who hooked up with who, the panic of "I haven't done my homework for math!" and their friend's comforting reply of "haha, me neither!" and the laughter. Tim loved the laughter most of all. It meant his fellow students were happy, and more importantly, safe. Tim closed his eyes and let his senses free. He could feel the seat and the table he was leaning on, the hard wood of the picnic table he used for studying. The slight chips in the wood which could cause splintering if someone wasn't careful, but gave Tim a comfort he couldn't explain. The smells of the trees and the air, and the polluted smell that could only come from Gotham, which again gave Tim some comfort. The sound of the students talking about nonsense, ("did you see Nate on 'talented Gotham' last night? It was amazing!") and the birds in the trees, calling out to each other, and maybe even to Tim. He was a bird too after all. Lots in common there. Tim smiled at the thought, and that was when his school day ended.

"Hey Drake, whatchya smirking at? The thought of Wayne in your mouth last night?"

People turned around to look, but noone moved from their place. Tim snapped out of his pre-school happiness. Jason Finch never came to school this early. Why was he here now? He didn't even like school. When Tim said nothing, Jason moved before Tim, not even a half step away from him, his hand behind his own back.

"come with me Drake, now." People began to whisper, and the malicious look in Jason's eye put a mild fear in Tim. Jason looked to his left, where a girl had just whispered to her friend that she thought Jason was a nasty, no good, pathetic little...

"what was that?" Jason asked her in a threatening tone. The girl looked taken aback, and started trying to defend herself. "What, no. I uh... I meant..."

"where to, Jason." Tim asked standing up, putting an arm around Jason's shoulder ( even though Jason was almost a head taller,) turning him away from the girl, effectively protecting her, as he was meant to do. Jason faltered slightly, but hit Tim around the back of the head to remove his arm. Tim allowed himself to be pushed forward by occasional hits to the head from Jason Finch, until the pair stopped in a corner out of sight to any windows or teachers eyes. Jason usually never went to this much effort to hide his misdeeds...

"what's the trouble now, Jason?" asked Tim, keeping his composure, showing no fear. Jason gave a sly grin, which seemed... Off.

"Well, you see drake, there was an accident at kickboxing last night. I was kicked in the face." Tim replied somewhat cocky, saying "well I'm sad to hear that it didn't fix your face." Jason's smirk faltered slightly, but he recomposed himself almost immediately.

"see, Timmy, that's what I'm trying to do now." and he grinned a sinister grin; a sinister grin with a missing tooth. Tim put two and two together, even before he realized that the object behind Jason's back was the pair of pliers Tim had been threatened to have his teeth pulled out with some time ago.

Tim had a teacher make the call to Alfred. He could barely talk at all with a tooth missing and his mouth full of blood. Alfred had asked how it happened, and though Tim already had his excuse compiled, he couldn't recount it anyway. No, that would have to wait until after he had a replacement made and in his mouth. Bruce was more concerned with Tim than he was with his current business, a contrast to how he was as Batman. So Tim had a new false tooth in and a enough time for the anesthesia to ware off by the end of the day. So over a dinner of cold fish (as Tim couldn't have anything hot yet,) Alfred again asked Tim how the accident had occurred.

"I was playing dodgeball with my friends before school, and my friend Nate threw the ball WAAY too close to the line, and WAAY too close to me for it to be safe... I mean obviously" and Tim gave a small laugh at the last part. Alfred too laughed as he stood up, clearing away his own empty plate, and ruffled Tim's hair saying "oh yes master Tim, indeed." Alfred didn't notice when Tim flinched under the pressure on his head. "although master Timothy, you could have at least pretended to cry, as any other boy would have. You do have a secret to keep you know." Tim didn't look up from his cold meal. "I know Alfred. I know."

Tim didn't have to go to school the next day, as he was still "recovering", according to the dentist anyway, but Robin was allowed on patrol. He did his best that night not to show any sign that he was in pain, and Batman made a point of saying how surprised he was at the boys composure under the circumstances (referring to the tooth of course) and Robin just smirked in response. Batman saw it as his cocky attitude, but in reality, it was Tim's cry out for help.

"Robin, make your way to seventh. There's an apartment on fire there. Two people trapped, both on the 4th floor. The fire department can't get to them, and my weight would exacerbate the structures current flaws. Get them out Robin." robin gave Batman a short reply, and grappled his way to the street Batman had said. Robin realized why the fire department had given up when he was 7 streets away. The blaze was massive. It had to have started on a top level, but no... Now Tim had a view of the whole building, he realized that the fire was no accident at all. The blaze was most fierce at the top and bottom of the structure, potentially a result of a few carefully placed bombs. There was no way the fire department could get to the 4th floor. So Tim did what the reckless boy wonder was meant to do; he grappled straight into the building, in through a window on the floor where the people were trapped.

The first person was a little boy no older than 6. He was cowering in a corner behind his car shaped bed. He looked like a younger version of the pictures Tim saw of the 2nd robin. Robin took care in putting the young boy under his arm, right against his chest where the boy wrapped his arms and legs around in his own safety procedure. Tim moved with the child to the window, asking the young boy his name to keep him calm. "Timothy." the boy said quietly, but loud enough for Robin to hear. It took all of Robins strength not to cry out "me too!"

The boy wonder grappled to a structure across the street from the building they were in, and carefully set the child down at the base of it where a man ran to the child screaming "TIM! Thank you Robin, Thankyou. Now please, please get my other son, Tim's brother. Please." the momentary joy on the mans face was replaced by a hopeful, terrified look.

Robin ran to a fireman, asked "how long have I got?" and was on the 4th floor again when he got a calm, though desperate reply of "less than 5 minutes for sure." Robin rushed around looking in every corner, in every nook and cranny, in every cupboard and wardrobe on the floor. He ducked as the ceiling caved in slightly. The building was going down soon. It had definitely gone down somewhere else though, apparently, as somewhere there was a person, somewhere a scream resonated.

"Keep making noise, please." cried out Tim desperately, before coughing from the smoke blanketing him. He couldn't pass out himself. He had to save them both. The kid, who sounded much older than the little boy he had just saved, did as he was told, calling out "hello"s and "I'm in here"s, and finally, robin caught sight of him. A boy with a boxing bag next to him pinned to the ground, and a full set of teeth, one of which was Tim's own.

Robin caught eyes with the terrified Jason Finch, his tormentor for so many years, the reason he got in trouble with Batman sometimes, the reason he used tricks intended for Tim Drake as robin. The reason for his pain, his misery. The reason he had no friends. The reason he was terrified of school. All of this, right before him, pinned to the ground by a beam. Helpless. Terrified. Crying out for help. Hurting.

"Robin please. It hurts. It hurts. Oh god Robin it hurts so much. Please, please, please!"

Tim stood there, staring at the figure on the ground. He saw himself in elementary school, limping from the bruise he definitely had on his spine. A small 1st grader, who definitely fell off the monkey bars and hit his back on the platform. The 3rd grader, who definitely hit his elbow running too fast in the hallwaysand broke it on a doorframe. The 5th grader, who felt the sensation of a knife against his throat for the first time. The 7th grader, who had an invisible, but large and brutal gash from the butt of a gun that was slammed and buried into his head. The 9th grader, who had his tooth pulled out with a pair of pliers... The cowardly boy he is now because of this monster before him.

Tim doesn't know how long he stands there, staring at Jason. He relishes in the moans and cries and many, many sobs made by Jason Finch. Tim smirks sadistically, almost trance like, makes sure his fake tooth can be seen, turns around, and walks away.

"no. ROBIN! Please oh god it hurts, it hurts robin. Please oh god please please save me OH GOD PLEASE!" Jason begged and begged, and he begged until Tim jumped out of the window, just as the structure crumbled in on itself. An ear piercing scream which cutoff, a resonating *snap* of Jason's spine rang throughout the entire 4th floor, and all sound besides the crackling of the fire went mute.


	2. Chapter 2

Two:

"Robin. What happened in there?" Batman asked his partner.

Tim had become good, no, an expert when it came to deceiving the batman. He had the face right; a sympathetic type to say 'I tried my best', even a quivering of the lip to show his fake sorrow, the unsettling and distant eyes which sparkled with tears. The voice; all choked up, filled with too much saliva and cracking in his words. The body language; fidgeting his left hand in his right, rubbing the knuckles, shoulders slumped, further away than he was. And the words: Stuttered at points, but not too much. Quiet. "Batman... I saw him... He... He... I-I almost didn't make it... The beam... It was too heavy... It was so... loud... He died... He..." Tim let out a shutter for affect (and the oscar goes to...) and allowed Batman to grab his shoulders and lead him away. Tim was so immersed in his act, that he didn't notice the hysteric sobbing coming from a father and his son.

Tim didn't have a sleepless night, but he didn't sleep well at all. He never noticed when he went to sleep, or when he woke up again. He didn't dream all the time, but sometimes he did. In his dreams, Tim saw fire, heard someone crying, saw himself standing there with a wicked smile with no teeth. He forgot his dreams when he woke up. Something was going to happen. He just knew it.

The weight of what had happened the previous night didn't hit Tim until he went to school that day ("it would be suspicious if you didn't go." was Bruce's argument. Tim didn't disagree at all.)

The sign out the front of the school which usually had a message to their sports team (Go Knights!) had the message 'R.I.P JASON FINCH YOU WILL BE MISSED". The students were all downcast. The girl he had been about to threaten the other day was talking to her friend about how he "wasn't such a bad guy, really." And the looks. The looks that Tim got from everyone, as if it was his fault Jason had died (...it wasn't.) which it wasn't. It was an accident. A mistake. That's all.

People pretended not to stare as Tim went by. He went to the picnic bench he always sat at, doing what he was now free to do,(it wasn't my fault.) he closed his eyes. Tim felt the wood, brushing it with his fingers, enjoying the sensation, until he felt the prick in his finger. He had gotten a splinter. Tim tried to bite it out, and scratched his tongue on it, tasted copper. Tim grunted, and smelled the trees and the air, and the polluted smell that could only come from gotham. And the smell of smoke. (it's not my fault.) Tim listened to the birds in the trees. They seemed to be talking to him. ("It's all your fault, Robin. You're not really a Robin though. Not really a bird at all. You don't belong with us. We have nothing in common.") no. They couldn't talk. They were just birds. So Tim listened to his cohort instead. "I reckon he's glad Jason's dead. I bet he would have done it himself if he weren't so weak." "why would you be happy someone's dead. Tim's not right in the head." "look. He's not even phased. Maybe Jason was beating sense into him every day."

Tim was pulled out of chemistry (working on a partner project by himself again.) for a 'special assembly.' this is where Tim finally understood his actions for what they were. His headmaster, principal Dion, a step up from the last one whom was an embezzler, stood on the stage with a microphone and waited for a quick silence.

"Students, teachers, I regret to say that this assembly is not a celebration of our knights whom we usually hold these assemblies for. No. Today, we are gathered here to remember. To remember, that life... Can be short. Accidents happen. Today... We remember Jason Finch. A courageous student, and a wonderful friend to many of you. (lies, Tim thought.) We will all remember Jason's ability to make us laugh, (hurt) to love (hurt) and bring a smile to our faces. (or a bruise, Tim though. He didn't even hide his smirk.)

"Jason was a hard worker, and a wonderful child. He inspires us, even in death." There was a round of applause from students and teachers alike, many with wet eyes and sobbing shoulders and aching hearts. Tim still felt nothing. Even principal Dion had wet eyes.

"yes, yes students. Teachers. I ask you now, to please remember Jason's family in their desperate time of need. His mother, who..." principal Dion was cut off by some teacher next to him whispering frantically in his ear. "Oh... Yes... Well..." continued principal Dion, "well... May she rest in peace. JASON'S father who is being left behind... By him... He too is a brave man... And... Uh..." the teacher who had whispered in his ear handed him a piece of paper. "Jason's father, with his blue eyes, and black hair... And stubble. And his little brother... Who looks a lot like that Batman's other robin..."

Tim's heart almost stopped beating then. He dreaded the next part of the speech.

"Yes Jason's little brother Timothy, a young boy... Who was saved. Saved by the boy wonder would you believe? In the same accident that killed his brother. The boy wonder, who risked life and limb to get Jason out, regardless of how hard it was, or how much danger he himself was in. The boy wonder, who risks his own life every night for the people of this city, who last night, tried his hardest, but ultimately failed, dispite how hard he tried... So please students... And teachers... Remember the best of Jason Finch, and his family, who are down another member."

Tim could hardly breath. That little boy... Timothy. And Timothy's father. Jason's mum had died. And then he died. And it was all Tim's fault. Tim's, because Robin wouldn't do that. Robin wouldn't let Penguin, or even the joker die, but he would let a student who was mean to him...

Tim's heart hurt. He had killed someone. Tim Drake was a murderer. A murderer. He felt isolated. He couldn't even tell where he was any more. He couldn't hear the birds, or smell the smoke, or feel the wood. But he was definitely at the picnic table. He was definitely there, even if his mind wasn't. It was his fault Jason died. It was his fault.

Kids walked past Tim, stared at him, at his face transfixed on the table in front of him. ("I bet he actually had a crush on Jason. Why else would he be sad right now?") is what the kids said. And that thought crossed the school faster than debris from a collapsing building. But Tim didn't know they were saying that. Tim didn't care. Tim was a murderer.

Tim sat on his bed, hardly a shift in his position at the picnic table. He didnt react to a knock on his door, or the sound of Bruce Wayne entering the room.

"Tim... I know that boy... The one you couldn't get out in time..." (Tim almost flinched) "I... I know he went to your school." Bruce waited for a reply, and moved further into Tim's room when he got none. "it's... It's not your fault Tim." Tim suddenly burst into tears. He had kept it in since after the assembly, but now his eyes and heart hurt too much. Bruce lay a comforting arm around his ward.

"Tim, you can't save everyone. People die okay, accidents happen. I know this one is hitting you hard. I'm sure you two were good friends. But please tim, understand that there's nothing you could do. You tried your best." Bruce rubbed circles on Tim's back, and brought him into a tight embrace.

"Bruce... I did something bad. Really bad." Bruce let out a small laugh. "I'm sure it isn't as bad as you think." Tim was so relieved by Bruce's comfort, which he didn't even know he needed, that he almost believed his words. Tim returned the hug, and groaned into Bruce's ear. "Bruce... I had time. To get Jason out I mean." Bruce brought Tim back by the shoulders, a look of horror on his face. Bruce's eyes were wide, unbelieving. His mouth hung open. Then his face changed into a look of loathing. "tell me what happened. Now."

Tim was afraid now. He cowered before Bruce Wayne before he cowered before the bat. "we-well, he used to hurt me really bad. You know that tooth that I said came out from dodgeball... Well I lied about it. That Finch kid took it out... With pliers."

Bruce was on his feet and halfway to the door. Tim jumped up to try and get Bruce to stay and just listen. "Bruce no, you don't understand! He used to do terrible things. He stabbed me in the leg, I didn't actually slip on a tile. he burnt me with cigarettes. Bruce, dad please believe me." Tim was bordering on hysterical now. Desperate to make Bruce understand him. Too much saliva in his mouth.

"Do not leave this room except for school and meals. Do you understand me." Bruce was in Tim's face now, glaring so menacingly. Tim couldn't find his voice to reply. Bruce didn't need one though before leaving and slamming Tim's door behind him, splitting the wood of the doorframe. Tim slept on the floor in a pool of his own tears and drool, (too much saliva, he thought), feeling like he didn't deserve a bed at all, or even a floor, or roof above his head.

Tim went down to breakfast late the next day. Alfred was nowhere in sight, but a meal was sitting on the table in Tim's usual place. It was considerably smaller than usual, consisting of one egg, and half as much bacon compared to the usual amount. There was no toast, and his meal was already cold. The food was tasteless, showing Tim the minimal effort put into his meal. Tim knew he deserved worse.

For the first time ever, Tim walked to school. He got many remarks from people driving past, ("if I sucked Wayne's cock every night, do you think I'd get a fancy new suit too? and a scholarship?") vile, vile comments were hurled at Tim for the duration of his journey. He really needed an iPod or something.

Entering the gates was usually a relief for the young Tim, but there was hardly any change in it from the previous day, except of course for all of the additional flowers, pictures, and letters for Jason Finch sitting against the board which still read 'RIP JASON FINCH YOU WILL BE MISSED'. Tim was glared at worse than ever as he walked by. It seemed like every person on the campus was staring at him. Should he say something? Tim decided no, and continued walking towards the usual picnic table, keeping his head down to try and remove the sensation of every eye on him. Tim didn't notice until he was next to the table that there was already a group of 5 people there; two girls, and three boys.

The two girls were the ones from the other day, the ones who were about to be threatened by Jason because of their remarks against him. Two of the boys were usually around the girls at lunch break, and the third boy was someone Tim couldn't recall ever seeing before. They all had the same expression on their faces. The same as everyone else's. Until one of the boys the girls were usually around, Ryan Fiya was his name, released the angry look on his face to replace it with a mocking one; a smirk on his mouth, half lidded eyes. And a nodd as he released air through his nose in what could have been a laugh. "Maybe Timmy should be in this club more than any of us. I've heard he's a bigger fan of Jason than any of us ever were. Isn't that right, Timmy?" Tim didn't know what this was about. Then one of the girls, Sabrina West described what she thought of the 'brave, handsome, drop dead gorgeous Jason', and Tim stood there and took the abuse. Just stood there. Until the boy he didn't know stood up and put an arm around Tim's shoulder. "how about we finish what Jason started. He obviously did it for a reason. I can see that now." Tim hardly took in what was being said around him. Not even when he was being lead off by arms on his shoulders, and in his hair. Not until the first fist came down above his right ear.

Even Robin may have had difficulty in getting the five new tormentors off himself. It didn't hurt as much as many of the things Jason had done to Tim, but it did pain him considerably. The hadn't started using any weapons (yet) and though part of Tim was grateful for that, the other part of him couldn't help but think he had gotten off easily. He felt he deserved worse. Much worse. Maybe they would break something tomorrow, snap a bone, smash his nose, make him bleed above the skin. But even that wouldn't be enough in Tim's eyes. He deserved the same fate as he had forced on Jason Finch. The same fate as the Robin before him (was he even a Robin anymore?) These thoughts ran through Tim's mind on his walk back to the manor. Alfred hadn't picked him up, and Tim hoped something bad would happen to himself on the way back. Aside from more comments from people passing by though, nothing bad happened.

Tim decided he shouldn't leave his room, not even when he heard the sound of two sets of cutlery on ceramic. He would have a dinner as cold as his breakfast, and eat much less of it. Tim sat and let his senses free, trying to relax himself. It worked in the mornings, why shouldn't it work now. He felt the wood of the floor on his behind, through the fabric of his school pants (had forgotten to change out of his uniform, as he never did.) the sensation of the bar of his bed against his back. The too soft mattress he didn't deserve... The sound of his guardians eating. The occasional murmur from one to another with words Tim couldn't decipher. The sound of his own breathing, too calm under the circumstances. The smell of Alfred's meals, the smell of his own body odor. The realization that he was still in his school uniform...

Tim didn't allow himself to have a shower. He would wait until batman was gone, and Alfred was in bed. Perfect. This thought struck Tim at the same moment there was a knock on his door. Heart racing, Tim stood and walked to it calmly. He knew the man on the other side could hear the boards, and wanted to show his mentor that he wasn't afraid. He opened the door with some difficulty, having to pull slightly harder than usual thanks to the splintered wood, and came face to face with the first robin.

The look on Richard Grayson's face showed Tim that he hadn't been told of what happened yet. The corner of his mouth was pulled up showing half of his teeth. His eyes were kind, and calm. Happy. His body was leaning against the broken doorframe, arms crossed, one leg up against the other in the shape of a flag.

"So im patrolling with Batman tonight. What'd you do this time Robin? Hit batman with the batarang instead of the guy he was holding, again?" Asked Dick. Tim said nothing,but turned around silently moved to sit on his bed. Bruce hadn't told him yet. Dick invited himself in, following Tim's lead, sitting next to the younger boy.

"Timmy... What is it? What happened?" Dick sounded much more concerned now. He placed an arm around Tims shoulders, a big brother comforting his younger one.

"I did something bad." was forced out of Tim, said no louder than a whisper. Dick said nothing, waiting for the younger to continue talking. "I could have saved him Dick... But I didn't." Dick took his arm off of Tim, but didn't move from his place on the bed. "he used to beat me up. Used to do all sorts of things. Every day since the first day I started school. He used to hit me, stab me, threaten me, burn me with his cigarettes... He pulled my tooth out with a pair of pliers! He did these things to me... And I let him snap like a twig... I killed someone Dick."

Dick Grayson pushed the hair off his own forehead, staring at the door. He didn't look as happy now as he had before. "Geez Tim... How could you let that compromise your mission... How the hell can you call yourself a Robin? You have no honor. You have no right to call yourself a Robin. I don't care if he set your cat in fire"(Jason Finch did this in 4th grade)"You do not let Tim Drakes feelings kill Robins mission." Tim was crying then. He didn't make any sound, but occasionally his shoulders bucked or he sniffled. Dick stared at the young boy. "pathetic, Tim." and Dick got up, and left the room, slamming the door behind him, splintering the wood of Tim's doorframe even more.


	3. Chapter 3

Three:

Tim waited until he knew Alfred was asleep around two in the morning, and did as he had planned. He had a shower. He allowed the calming water to fall across his body, an indescribable embrace that put Tim in complete bliss. He begged the water to wash away his pain. His troubles. But it didn't.

Tim left the shower, feeling no cleaner than he had before. He moved to the mirror and looked at himself. He needed to shave again. He took the razor from the cupboard, but dropped it into the sink when he felt something on his leg, dripping like water, but it wasn't water. It was blood. Tim smiled at this. The kids, Ryan Fiya and Sabrina West and the other three, one at least did use a weapon, something sharp enough to cut the outer side of his right leg from his thigh to half way down his calf. It was deep. It had scabbed over, but the shower softened it up enough for it to come off and start bleeding all over again. Tim liked the sight of this blood. He saw the justice in it. And then it hit him.

He couldn't undo his mistake (it wasn't a mistake.) in this life... but maybe he could in death. He had killed, and his victim needed justice. So Tim took his razor and slammed it against his countertop. He took a blade, and put it to his wrist, slicing downward in an attempt to see Jason again, to let his real punishment begin. It's what he deserved, and it would give Jason justice.

Tim let the blood fall from his arm, land on his countertop and the floor. He watched it pool. He watched it through cloudy eyes, eyes that were unseeing. Tim didn't notice when he became weak in the legs, when he lowered himself to the ground, when he leant against his bath. Tim sat there for, who knows how long. He didn't fall asleep, but just sat there, feeling the pain in his arm. The pain he deserved. The pain Jason should have given him that day, but couldn't. Because he was dead. Because Tim killed him.

At three in the morning, Batman returned from his patrol along with Nightwing. Nightwing went to the kitchen, while batman continued to file through that nights mission. The pair had finally tracked down Harley, and Nightwing managed to plant a tracer on her, one which had an inbuilt microphone. Batman was listening to it now.

Nightwing removed his mask (it got so itchy sometimes) and opened Bruce's fridge. He took an apple, had a bite, and then noticed an untouched meal on the dining table. Tim hadn't come down for dinner. Dick took the plate and scaled the stairs. He knocked on Tim's door, and grew concerned at the absence of any answer.

"Tim? I know you're awake. You never sleep this early." Dick put his ear to the door, listening for any breathing. He expected at the most a calm, even breathing that could only be acquired through sleep, but instead heard rapid, uneven, tortured breathing.

Dick slammed his shoulder into the door, which came undone easily thanks to the split wood, and ran to Tim's bathroom from where there was light peering under the door. This bathroom didn't have a lock, so Dick had no issues in entering, though he wished he hadn't, but was glad he did. Tim was lying against the bath in nothing but a towel around his waist. He was dry now, except for a few strands of hair, and his face which was covered in tears. There was blood running from Tim's arm slowly onto the white tiles, covering the boys legs and the towel. Dick screamed Tim's name, and started screaming for Alfred. He grabbed another towel and put it on the bleeding wrist with as much pressure at he could muster.

Tim had unfocused eyes, and his breathing wasn't right at all, (at least he's breathing at all Dick thought.) Tim's head lolled a little as Dick looked over the child. He saw a cut on Tim's calf, which looked like it went up his leg.

"oh Robin, what have you done" whispered Dick, and he grabbed Tim's other arm to survey any damage. The blade fell out of Tim's hand. Dick threw it under the sink, not wanting to look at it at all, and pulled Tim into an embrace. Alfred moved into the room, then halted at the sight of Dick hugging an almost naked, possibly dead... No not dead, almost dead, Tim.

Alfred couldn't move then. Just stood there, until Dick called out his name in a begging tone.

"carry him over here Richard. Place him on his bed and then go get my equipment. Then get Bruce." Said Alfred in a too calm way. Dick did as he was told immediately, running as fast as he could for Alfred's first aid kit. When he returned, Alfred took out a medical needle and thread. Tim's lethargic face turned to look at it, and when the boy caught sight of it, he started thrashing and crying out "no. NO! Alfred please no". Alfred injected Tim with something, and his thrashing and pleas slowed down, and then stopped.

Bruce wasn't finished when Dick came rushing into the cave. Batman had important work to do. But Tim... Tim was more important.

"Bruce, please. Tim... He...he... Please come Bruce, oh god it's horrible. Please." Dicks words were cryptic, but Bruce could easily put together what his boy meant. So Batman stopped working and moved with Dick to the elevator.

They were silent on the way to Tim's room, Dick running ahead of him, Bruce keeping his composure. Dick ran to Tim's side, begging Alfred to let him help. Bruce stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do with himself.

Tim was pale, covered in blood, worst on his arm... Bruce moved to the bathroom and did what Batman would have done: he started looking for clues. He saw blood in the shower. A cut on his foot? No, his leg. It wasn't a new one. He followed the trail to the countertop. An open cupboard. He stood here a while. A broken razor. That's where he got the blade. The blood on his leg pooled here. He... He did the thing... Here. There's smaller drops of blood here and here. He moved back. Held onto the Blade. Used the hand with the razor to lower himself down. There's a line of blood here, with a part of his handprint. Dick came in here, stepped here. Saw the blade... Threw it somewhere. Where? Over there. Blood flew off it, splattered the wall a little here. It's under there.

Dick came into the bathroom furiously. "Bruce what the hell are you doing? Tim is bleeding to death in there and you're in here... Doing what exactly?" Bruce looked a little flustered.

"looking at the scene... Trying to find out what happened." Dick had tears in his eyes, not from frustration but from fear for Tim.

"For gods sake Bruce. You're not batman right now. Stop being your alter ego at an inappropriate time! That's exactly how we got into this mess in the first place." Dick was yelling. Dick was right. Bruce put his face in his hands as if to cry, but didn't. Dick pulled him by his arm into the room where Alfred was working on Tim's arm.

When Alfred finished too long later, he left the room without a word and allowed the two men to sit by Tim, as long as they promised not to touch him. (we promise.) but of course they did. Brushing locks out of his now calm face, taking his hand, brushing his stubble with their fingers. Alfred didn't even stop them when he reentered the room with a tray of coffee and three mugs. They weren't going anywhere tonight.

Dick took Tim's bed next to his younger brother. Bruce took the seat next to it on Tim's other side, and Alfred took a chair on the other side of the room, wanting to be there, but not wanting to be in the way of a father and his sons. They slept there until the next day.

Alfred left the room when he woke up, preparing meals for the day, keeping his mind off the tragedy they were so close to having. Bruce woke up next, and watched his two boys sleeping faces, (...it should have been three.) saw the calmness on them, the look that told Bruce he didn't have to worry, though he knew he did. He brushed his sons faces, thinking about how lucky he was to have them both, and how horrible it was to almost lose one of them. He would never tell Dick about this moment. Or even Alfred. This was a moment for Bruce Wayne only. Watching his sons sleep next to each other, their blank faces which looked so similar under a mask, their rising and falling chests, and the slight noises they made when they breathed out.

Tim was wearing a pair of track pants now, though nothing else as far as Bruce was aware, and Dick was in his Nightwing attire. Usually Bruce would have had a conversation with Dick about this ("what if someone came over to visit suddenly?" "they wouldn't come in my room!" "what if they were here to see you!?") But believed he could make an exception just this once. Nightwing woke next, and Bruce pretended to have only been watching Tim.

"What did Alfred give this kid?" slurred Nightwing, rubbing his tired face.

"a tranquilizer used on deer, though only a small dose of course. It was the only one in the kit. I need to get something better." Was Bruce's reply. Dick slowly made his way into a chair pulled next to the bed, and like Bruce, he observed Tim.

"I was too hard on him Dick." said Bruce after a while. Dick didn't reply. "what do I do?"

Dick was a little surprised at this. Bruce never asked for his advice. But again, he didn't reply. The sight of Tim on the ground, helpless, completely defeated, was printed in his memories eye. He couldn't see anything else. Tim could have died. But he didn't. He's still here, still ok. Just a little bloody and bruised. Suddenly, Bruce stood up.

"Stupid boy. Trying to kill himself because of what he did." Bruce headed towards the broken door. "Tell me when he wakes up." and he left without another word.

This sudden burst of anger startled Dick. When Bruce left he began thinking of what Tim had told him. That kid... Jason filch or something... He used to bruise Tim, burn him, pull his teeth out... Dick was the big brother. He was meant to protect Tim. But Tim... Tim had a moment of madness. Everyone gets them from time to time. Tim's was just at the worst time. He shouldn't have to suffer for that.

Dick decided he was going to stand by Tim, even though it seemed like Bruce wouldn't. But Bruce needed Dick too... And in that moment, Dick felt as he had all those years ago, in that moment he could have avenged his parents, almost did, was stopped by batman. Dick almost killed a man, but didn't because he was stopped. He still regret not killing Tony Zucco. Maybe there was some twisted justice in this.

Bruce was still angry when he got downstairs to Alfred in the kitchen. "There's four hot meals Alfred. I said there should only be three."

Alfred said "yes but sir, under the circumstances I figured..." Bruce glared at his father figure. He had told Alfred not to give Tim hot meals or take him to school or even pick him up for the next month. Alfred had reluctantly agreed with Bruce, but figured that was over now. Apparently though, it wasn't.

"Master Bruce, Tim will be waking up soon, and he's going to need a full meal and plenty of fluids. He needs to relax, and he needs to be warm."Alfred tried to argue this point, and Bruce went right next to Alfred's face and looked him right in the eye.

"I don't care if he needs the queen of England to kiss his ass Alfred, he's not having a hot meal. He's not going to relax. He is in TROUBLE Alfred. He killed a man. I'm not going to let him forget about it just like that." and Bruce snapped his fingers. Alfred threw down the tea towel he was holding, and got into Bruce's face equally as threatening.

"and you listen to me Bruce Wayne, that boy has gone through an ordeal. And I don't care if he SLAUGHTERED the Queen of bloody England. I am giving him a hot meal and time to relax, and you're a bloody idiot if you think I'm not going to disobey you on this." and the old man pushed past Bruce with a strength Bruce didn't even know was there, and went to finish setting the table right. (knives on the right, forks on the left.)

As Alfred finished doing this, Dick called out from Tim's room "Alfred, Bruce, he's awake!" so Alfred ran to The source of Dicks voice, and sure enough, Tim had his eyes open, and was sitting up.

Darkness. His eyes were closed. He couldn't remember what happened. He could remember Bruce being angry... Dick came in... Dick was angry... He waited for a shower... He went to the cupboard... He needed to shave... He took a razor. He remembered. Someone must have saved him, even though he locked his door. He felt the mattress under him, the sheet above him. The pillow that was too big and hurt his neck. His arm was numb. His leg was numb. His head hurt, and he felt light. He listened. There was an argument going on somewhere. Bruce was yelling, and Alfred was yelling... No, Alfred never yelled. Maybe he was in a hospital? He heard breathing next to him. It sounded rapid, blocked, scared. Whoever this was, they were fidgeting in their chair. Not Bruce. Smaller judging by the creaks. Richard. He was in a bed. Richard was the only one in the room. He wouldn't notice Tim was awake. Good.

Tim sniffed. He could smell Nightwings body odor. It was a bitter scent, but it gave Tim comfort, reminded him of when they were both younger, when they would spar together. Tim sniffed himself too. He smelt like a hospital. Slowly, oh so slowly, oh so painfully, Tim opened his eyes. They were bloodshot, and the air that hit them hurt his whole head. Dick wasn't looking at him. He looked nervous, like a child waiting outside the principals office.

Tim made a noise and perched himself on his elbows, observing the older boy. There was a hitch in Dick's breathing, and he looked up. Seeing Tim, well it made Dick smile more than Tim had ever seen from him. Dick hugged Tim. He had definitely been crying, most likely after Bruce had left the room.

"I though we lost you Tim!" whispered Dick. Then he pulled away from the younger boy and called out to Bruce and Alfred, the latter of which could be heard running, yes running up the stairs.

"Yes Tim, this is necessary. You need a proper meal, and proper liquids. In a proper environment." said Alfred from behind Tim, who was hanging from Richards back with his arms around the older's neck. Dick didn't look at these arms. He didn't want to see them. the bandages. What was underneath them.

Dick let Tim down next to his spot at the table, where a considerably large meal was placed, consisting of at least five eggs, a whole pack of bacon, six pieces of toast, five pancakes, a hash brown, and a whole carton of milk.

"uuh Alfred... Don't you think this is a bit excessive?" asked Tim.

"nonsense." was the reply. There were only three plates at the table. Bruce must have taken his somewhere else. There was silence at the table for the duration of the meal. Tim had 2 bites and left the rest. It wasn't until there was a clash of silverware on plates that the batman emerged, holding robins suit in his hand.

"put it on." was all he said. Tim rose from his place, and moved towards his mentor slowly. He felt light headed as he did so. The adrenaline he had then wouldn't last forever... He took the attire, and batman said "in the car. 10 minutes." Tim nodded, and moved towards the downstairs bathroom. He wouldn't be using his own for a while. Ten minutes. Batman usually gave him five.

There was silence on the drive. It wasn't awkward though, It was just there. Batman didn't say a word for the duration of the trip, so robin had no hints as to where they were going. People walking down the street stopped and stared as the batmobile went by (it was odd for it to be out during the day... What a treat! They thought.)

Tim was in a sort of trance for the ride, sipping occasionally at his water bottle which Alfred had definitely put something in. He didn't notice when they stopped, and needed his name to be said three times before he finally responded. He saw where the were, and his heart seemed to stop entirely. Gotham cemetery. Jason Finches funeral.


	4. Chapter 4

Four:

The two walked towards the congregation surrounding a long coffin. A man with blue eyes, black hair, and a small beard was holding a young boy around six years old, who looked the spitting image of a younger Jason Todd. The pair stood closest to the wooden feature right at the centre of the five kids who now tormented Tim and a group of people Tim had never seen before; aunts, uncles, cousins, were also there. There was a total of 19 people, 21 now with the two new editions.

Robin followed behind batman, afraid to face the people he failed. He wanted to ask Batman why they were there. Why he would bring him there. batman could have come alone, right? The pair walked towards the group. Robin looked out of place in his green red and yellow amongst a the black of everyone else. He stuck out, which is why little Tim saw him so easily.

"Robin?" called the little boy. The people around the coffin looked up then, mesmerized by the display before them. THE batman and THE Robin. They never went out in the day.

Some people looked at them with malice in their eyes. Those people blamed Robin for the death of Jason Finch. Jason's father however looked at him with kindness, a calmness that told Robin he didnt blame him. The Finch Patriarchy was wrong to assume this, thought Tim.

Robin moved to the coffin and placed a hand on it. No one stopped him or even said anything. Jason's dad was the first to speak, compassion and grief evident in his voice.

"Robin... Thankyou... For trying. You saved one of my sons, and for that I am eternally grateful. And you tried to save Jason... I know you did. I saw you go back in for him. It was just... Too difficult, or too dangerous,or too late. but his... Passing. It was inevitable. I believe things happen for a reason. And I hope whoever killed him gets their comeuppance. I guess the main thing I'm trying to say though... Is thanks. Thankyou Robin." Mr Finch's voice cracked at this last part, and Mr Finch couldnt say any more if he wanted to, as he had begun to bawl. Robin had tears in his eyes. No one could see them however, thanks to his mask. His throat felt dry. Not enough saliva. He needed his water. There was so much he wanted to say then, but he was afraid. Afraid to acknowledge his failure. His misdeed. His murder. Batman put a hand on Robins shoulder. What did that signal? Was he meant to tell the truth? Was he meant to say anything?

"enough." is all batman said. Batman began leading Robin away, walking him back to the batmobile. quiet sobs could be heard behind them. Batman put his arm around Robins shoulder, pulling him into a half embrace, and guided him, as he always did.

Dick and Alfred didn't talk to each other while they cleaned Tim's bathroom, aside from the occasional "can you pass that please." "is this clean enough?" or other bits of small talk, though both wanted to talk to the other, get confirmation that 'it' had really happened.

Dick stripped Tim's bed, getting his little brothers blood on himself. Dick stood beside Tim's bed, holding the blood spattered linen. There was so much blood. How could he have lost so much blood? Dick looked at the floor behind him expecting to see a few more drops, and there was. There were droplets of Tim's blood on the carpet. On the white carpet. Not inside his body where it should have been. Dick sat on Tim's bed then, holding the sheet in his hand to his face, trying not to cry for his brother. He was meant to protect Tim, not let him get beaten, bruised, burnt, bullied. He could have prevented this. He could have saved Tim, could have saved Jason Flint, or whatever his name was. Could have been the brother he was supposed to be.

Alfred chose that moment to enter, stopping his final scrub of the bathroom to comfort his first grandson.

"master dick, please. We need to be strong for master Tim. Because he can't be strong for himself right now. Now he needs us more than ever." he pat dick on the back, stroked his shoulder.

"he always needed us Alfred. Always did. We were blind. Too stupid to see it. And now he's suffering for it. For our mistake." Alfred sighed, and hugged dick, allowing Dick to put his head on Alfred's shoulder, and they stayed that way until they heard footsteps downstairs.

Batman was the first to say anything on the drive back to the manor. He asked Tim where he wanted to go then. In a metaphorical sense of course. He had tried to kill himself. He needed help. Tim knew that that was exactly what his mentor was indicating, but he remained silent. It was an awkward topic, and when they got back to the manor, all Tim wanted to do was return to his room. Relax. Maybe try again...

"I didn't bring you out here to hurt you Tim. I brought you out here to show you that there are consequences. All of those people turned up because of the memory of someone." This struck a nerve in Tim. All batman was doing was reminding him of his moment of madness. "If you died last night, who would go to your funeral?" ...thats what batman was talking about? "All of the... Uh... Batfamily... Would go. Any living relatives you have, superheroes from the league and their protégés, and of course all of your school friends." Something broke inside Tim then.

"I don't have friends Bruce. Jason Finch made everyone too afraid to go near me. I don't even have goddamn science partners. Even now, though he's gone, he still tortures me. The glares, the comments, the teasing... I have no league are nobody to me. They don't even know your real identity, let alone mine! I have no care for my living relatives. And the batfamily? Who? You and Dick?"

"...and Alfred" added Bruce. "and Barbara."

Tim let out a huff. "tell me then, who went to Jason's funeral."

Batman looked a little confused. "we were just there Tim... You saw... His father, his brother, his uncles and aunts..." Tim looked at the older man as if he was stupid. "not that Jason, idiot. Jason Todd." Batman recoiled at the name, flinched, before removing the cowl from his head. Bruce stared at Robin, whilst driving. Robin looked afraid, though that was most likely from the fact they were currently driving blind.

"uuh Bruce... The road..." Bruce swerved, parking his car in a nearby lot. A crowd surrounded the batmobile immediately, though there wasn't any point in this; the vehicle was sound proof.

"take off that mask." demanded Bruce. Tim looked at Bruce, taken aback. Why would it matter if he had his mask on. "...no." replied Robin.

"Tim. I mean it. Take off that mask before I rip it off." Robin glared at his mentor, loathing in his eyes behind his mask.

"no. I won't." Bruce didn't wait for another defying statement. He ripped Tim's mask from his face, leaving a red mark, and lost skin in some places. Tim shrieked, and held his gloved hands to his face where the mask should have been. Batman showed no sympathy before saying"now look at me." Tim removed his gloves from his face, to show Bruce the bloodshot watering eyes underneath. But he didn't cry. Tim put his hands by his side and looked Bruce right in the eyes, showing that he was not a child, not a coward. Bruce looked almost frightened, but surely Tim was misjudging the man. But of course he was. What batman felt was sympathy, sympathy for the boy trying to show strength through half lidded wet eyes, a red face, dry lips, slumped shoulders, and signs that he wouldn't last much longer without passing out.

"Tim. Please. I can't help you, but I know someone who can. Please let me take you to her." Bruce was begging. Bruce WAS afraid.

It was going to take more than that for Tim to agree to see a therapist. Bruce knew that. Bruce also knew that he needed to. Not just for Tim, but for Dick, for Alfred, even for Bruce himself. But it was Tim's choice. Bruce wasn't going to force him into it (...yet.)

The two returned to the cave in silence. Bruce could see the tiredness on Tim's miserable face. It was only the middle of the day, but it had been long enough for Tim, so Bruce guided the slow moving youth to the elevator, and out of the cave. Tim moved to the couch in the sitting room, where he collapsed and fell asleep. Bruce went to the game room where he poured himself a glass of bourbon, and sat on a stool at the bar, trying to think of what to do next. His guard was down, so he didn't hear Alfred's movements behind him, was startled when the man spoke to him;

"Master Bruce, where is it you took Tim?"

Bruce jumped, but composed himself and stood up, attempting to make his movements look deliberate.

"well you see, Alfred, that boy who Tim... Um... Well his funeral was today. I took Tim there. He needed it." Alfred had a hard look on his face.

"what he needs, Bruce, is rest. He almost died for Christs sake... Sir?" and Bruce was weak. In this moment, he was weak. he was on the ground, actually bawling. "...sir." Alfred was taken back to all those years ago. The 10 year old child Bruce Wayne crying on the floor of his dead parents bedroom. A lost little boy with no indication of where to go next, what to do, or how to do it. A little boy with his whole life ahead of him spent without loving parents, and only an old man to guide him through the miseries of life. Alfred saw Bruce as he was back then, so he did exactly what he would have done, and did in those moments. He moved towards the boy, got on his knees before him, and embraced him. Hugged him until Bruce wanted to let go, until the last tear was long gone. Alfred stayed strong enough for both of them, and they connected then, as they did after the death of Martha and Thomas Wayne on more than one occasion. Neither of them knew how long they sat there, but they both knew they wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Richard Grayson, whom was still in his nightwing attire, didn't follow Alfred to the games room. Instead, he searched for his little brother. First he checked the kitchen, then the bathroom, then Tim's own bedroom. After failing to find him, Dick began to panic, rushing from room to room, and relaxing, exhaling the breath he didn't even know he was holding, when he saw him breathing easily on the sofa in the sitting room. He had a violent red mark on his face where the Robin mask usually was. He kneeled next to his brother and put his gloved hand on Tim's shoulder blade. If Tim died last night, he didn't know what he would have done. He couldn't handle losing another one...

Dick put his head on the sofa next to Tim's hip, resting it just above the bone. He could feel Tim's heartbeat. Dick felt like he needed to cry,felt his eyes sting, but refused to let it happen. He wasn't weak. He wouldn't be seen in such a shameful state again. He had lost too much masculinity in the past two days already... The bags. Maybe The punching bags would be enough. He needed his strength.

Dick wondered what would happen if his enemies saw him in such a vulnerable state. Poison ivy would cackle. Scarecrow would mock him. Catwoman would be hysterical... But she wasn't a villain. She had helped batman before on more than one occasion. She wasn't a friend though... How would his friends see him... Wally would feel sorry for him, try to help him. Miss Martian would try to find out what happened, and try to help him too. Everyone would try to help him. But dick didn't want that help. Dick didn't want people to try to understand what they couldn't. Sometimes... Sometimes dick just wanted to cry. Needed to. But now was not that time. Maybe it was never the time, but he had deluded himself into believing it was ok. Dick stood up and began to walk out of the room and to the cave to train himself, regain the strength he had lost, but halted at the sound of sobbing. He creeped to the door of the games room, and slid it open enough to look through the crack. Inside was Bruce Wayne, Batman, crying into the embrace given by an old man with nothing but care to give. Alfred was in tears too. Dicks heart hitched within his chest. He closed the door without a sound, and went back to Tim where he also wept, without a sound.

Tim woke up some time later. How long had he been there? Minutes? Hours? Tim didn't know the answer to that. What he did know though, was that his throat hurt (...not enough saliva). He tried to move from his stomach to his feet, but found the feat impossible, thanks to not only his light headedness, but to a weight on his hip. Turning his head far enough, Tim saw nightwing fast asleep with his head perched between the bone of his hip and the dip of his back. Tim would have found the position hilarious if he didn't have such a sore stomach, or throat, or head, or legs, or face. Or if he had any motivation to get up, to move himself enough to need nightwing to move. And not that Tim would admit it, but he found the contact soothing. Tim closed his eyes, and pretended he never woke up.

At 7 o'clock that night, Tim was awoken by Alfred, who put a tablet in his mouth and sat him up (so dizzy) for a glass of water. Alfred then brought Tim a meal consisting of a microwave dinner, which Tim Hardly touched. He had no appetite, and found difficulty in lifting his cutlery anyway. Tim drifted into slumber again, unable to retain anything going on around him.

Pain didn't leave Tim when he woke up. Only in deep sleep did he stop hurting. It was made better with the absence of dreams or nightmares. So the next time Tim woke up, he had no choice but to lie there, for even when he didn't move a muscle, he still hurt. So Tim did what he usually did. He let his senses free. He felt a softness in his Sore back; a bed which was hardly used. Soft blankets, fresh from the drier, or fresh when he was carried to this room. There was a tube in his nose, one in his arm which was above his head. He smelled the scents around him; an aroma of crispness, the fabric softener used on the sheets, (so soft, so snuggly.) The hospital smell that didn't seem to leave him now. The sound of more arguing... That seemed to happen more now. It was Tim's fault. He knew this. He tore his family apart. Tim was mildly curious about what was being said outside this door, but his head hurt too much so he decided he didn't care. Tim recoiled in pain when the door to Dicks bedroom opened with a bang, and a fuming alfred entered. Alfred noticed the movement, however, and immediately regret his actions.

"sorry Tim." whispered the man. Alfred caringly gave Tim another tablet, and squeezed water into Tim's dry mouth instead of having the youth sit up again. "master Timothy... I apologize for the current arrangement, but master Bruce felt it was necessary."

Tim slurred his reply; "warraya talkin bou arfred?"

"the cuffs master Timothy, but Bruce felt it necessary until you agree to his terms... Which I assume you understand?" Tim began to feel the dull weight of the handcuffs on him keeping him in his place.

"bud arfred" said Tim, a smile and a hint of laughter in his voice, "I cand go anywhe... Ed erts. Throw erts. Arms erts. Bud my Ed erts mose... Arfred, can you please ged me somefeeng for th pain?" the smile was gone from tims face, replaced by sadness and defeat. Alfred's heart broke again. Tim was in pain.

"...right away, Robin."


	5. Chapter 5

Five :

Tim's return to school a month later was arduous for the boy, but Bruce had insisted.

The rumor had spread that Tim was gay for Jason Finch, and that he had successfully killed himself to be with his dead lover again, so many students were surprised to see Tim at all.

There were many changes to the school in the month Tim hadnt been there. The sign out the front of the school was back to its usual "Support the Knights this Wednesday!", the dissection lab had been removed, and half of the books in the library were gone.

Tim's favourite spot was gone too, replaced by a hole in the ground, a similar position distributed to all of the wooden tables, ("cutbacks Tim. That's all there is to it. Cutbacks. What does it matter? They were an eyesore anyway, and we only got rid of things students hardly used... They wont be missed.") so Tim had to find a new place.

After a moments ponder, Tim decided that the science building would be the most appropriate place for him now. It was usually quiet, had the most comfortable chairs in the school, had a nice view out the window. Yes, that was the place for him. The moment this decision was made, Tim snapped out of his mind only to realized a group had gathered around him.

It was the five kids Whom now worshiped Jason Finch, the ones which 'carried on his work'. Tim was shepherded to the side of the building blocking the roads view of him, (as long as passersby didn't see, nobody cared.) so Ryan Fiya, Sabrina West, and the other three, (Brittney Firling, Jesse dirwell, and James lee) attacked Tim for the duration of lunch. It was Jesse Dirwell, the one he hadn't seen before who had sliced Tim's leg. He knew this because he had brought a knife again, and Tim let them hurt him again. He let them hurt him for as long as they wanted, because they had already won, or more accurately, Tim had already lost.

Bruce Wayne was at Gotham Academy before a majority of students the next day. Tim had begged him not to go, tried to grab the man, tried to hit the man, make him hate Tim, but dick grayson didn't let it go on for very long before holding Tim in place through his shoulders. Tim was trembling in anger, and kids were talking behind their hands, pretending not to see what was happening. Students heard Bruce Wayne from the principals office 4 floors above the entrance, screaming about something they couldn't decipher. A crowd gathered at the schools entrance; some of the onlookers didn't even attend the institute. Tim stood there staring up at the principals office with the weight of Dicks hand on his shoulder. The five kids who beat Tim up, (snakes Tim called them. Snakes attacked fallen robins.) were standing within the crowd too. They seemed to be glaring at the window, giving Tim dirty looks every now and then which Dick missed every time. Suddenly an announcement came over the intercom with a shaking voice;

"Tim Drake, would you please come to my office now, Tim Drake, in my office now."

Tim felt the eyes on him harder than he had any days before that one. He moved towards the buildings entrance, Dick pushing him from behind.

"I will only ask you one... More... Time." said mr Dion, pinching the bridge of his nose, "which students have allegedly been bullying you?"

Bruce glared at Tim, and Tim avoided his eyes.

"I told you... There's no kids hurting me. There never was." said tim just above a whisper. Tim felt ridiculous. Did his guardian and brother have to be there... "that is all I have to say."

The disappointment resonated off Bruce.

"well, mr Wayne, as you can see, your 'son' has nothing to say on the matter, so I don't see why you do. Gotham Academy is a fine institute with a no bullying policy, which"

Dick cut in then. "what about Jason Finch, huh? I use to attend this 'institute', mr Dion. I know how things work around here. This school covers things up, and it covers them up well no matter whose in charge. Teachers turn a blind eye as long as they get paid, and the dear principal only does something if there's a bribe in it for him. You... You seem like you're trying, but with minimal effort. If it wasn't Bruce Wayne before you, but some poor parent, they would have been dragged out of your office ten minutes ago." Dick turned his attention to Tim now, "Tim... You have the power to stop whatever's happening to you. Do the right thing now. We just need their names. Just one name. Please, for me?"

Tim had gone red now. Why did Dick have to interfere? He wasn't even his real brother.

"there's no kids hurting me." this came out just above a whisper, and much too quickly. Dick got up and moved towards the door.

"So those marks on your legs came from what? Your textbooks?" were his last words before exiting and slamming the door behind himself. There was a pregnant pause then. Tim didn't laugh, but he wanted to.

"well mr Wayne," said principal dion after some time, "Thankyou for coming to me with your current issues. We here at Gotham academy appreciate the concerns parents come to us with."

Bruce left the room with a sentence that was quiet, but easily recognized as "oh, blow it out your ass." Tim stood up and left too.

Tim was beaten again that lunch break. Cut up, punched, rocks thrown at him. This was ok. Tim had zoned out, used his robin training. He could see everything, but his mind was elsewhere. He could hear them, but they were distant. He could feel them, but their touch didn't register in Tim's head. They moved him around, but Tim didnt notice. He noticed nothing. Sometimes he felt a punch, or the crunching of his body on itself, but it was usually minor... At least in those moments it was. Thanks to his were being particularly brutal this time. (Snitches get stitches thought Tim. He laughed at the thought...

"Why is he laughing?" asked Sabrina West.

"not... Brutal enough." replied James lee.

So brittney Firling and Jesse Dirwell moved tim and lay his arm over two large rocks. Tim felt none of the movements then, but he did when Ryan Fiya took an even larger rock, and dropped it onto Tim's arm, affectively snapping it in two.

Tim's scream alerted anyone within hearing distance of a 200 m radius. He was brought out of his dream like reality, thrown into real reality. All five kids dropped whatever they had planned to abuse Tim with next, and ran off in another direction. Students surrounded Tim, looks of shock on their face. Some teachers pushed through the gathering crowd, and stopped once they saw the gruesome sight. Tim felt pathetic, lying on the ground with his broken arm holding him in place, his good arm spasming in the dirt on his other side, tears pouring down his red face, spit falling from the corners of his gaping mouth.

Only one teacher had the sense to pull out a mobile phone and call an ambulance for the child in pain. Tim's arm was snapped in two. Tim saw the irony in it. He saw his arm as a screaming boy, as Jason Finch; his spine snapped in two, broken by a beam. Tim started laughing. Hard, and frightened the crowd before him. The concern only grew when Tim started mumbling "like Jason," over and over, and his laughing became more and more hysterical.

Bruce Wayne was furious when he heard what had happened. The children who were caught on camera, had all of their weeks of 'handiwork' caught on camera, were expelled. There were videos of Jason Finch torturing Tim, years of them, from the time he had started school, (Bruce had demanded the footage from all of Tim's schools.)

Tim didn't cry in any of the videos past the age of 13, when he began training to be Robin, but in previous years, he did. The most recent incident was the first time he had cried on camera since that age, and this peaked Batman's curiosity... But now was not the time for curiosity. Now was the time to be there for Tim.

Bruce continued to watch the abuse, saw the torment Jason Finch put Tim through. Cigarette burns, knife threats, throwing the smaller boy around, pulling out tims tooth... and for a second that went on far too long for batman, Bruce Wayne was happy that Jason Finch was dead.

Tim woke up in a hospital bed with his arm in a cast, and a tremendous amount of pain on his mind. He remembered what had happened in some aspect... He had been thinking about the case with Harley Quinn, the new intel brought in thanks to Dick. He had been keeping his mind away from what was happening to him. It had worked. Until they smashed his arm with a rock. The sound resonated in Tim's head, taking him out of his daydream, putting him into shock. He had cried... He wouldn't have if he was expecting it. He was off his guard... It wouldn't happen again. Robin had broken many bones before, but he had expected them. The pain wasn't even so bad now Tim thought about it. But the sound. The sound got to Tim. He went back to the night he killed in that moment. He had his back to Jason Finch, was half way out the window. He regret leaving him there in that moment. He was too late to turn back. There was one last scream, and a snapping noise. The noise of a spine seperating from itself was so similar to the sound of his arm breaking... It was the same. The same circumstance, except with a rock instead of a ceiling. An arm instead of a back. The major difference Tim saw in the situation was the fact that he deserved to have his arm broken. He deserved worse than that, but Jason didn't deserve to die. Tim did. Did Jason die straight away? Or was he put in shock, unable to scream any more. Was he burned alive? It didn't matter anymore. Jason Finch died, and it was Tim's fault.

Bruce dropped in an hour later. He told Tim about how the students were expelled. He tried to avoid telling Tim about the years of abuse he had seen, but Tim was too damn smart.

"how did they know which ones did it? How many tapes did they have? ...how much did you see?" and by the end of Bruce's visit he had told Tim everything.

Walking through the manor hurt Tim. Every time he saw a picture of Jason Todd, he was reminded of Jason Finch. The youngest Finch really did look like the former Robin, and he thought of that little boy every time he passed through the halls. (what would have happened if I had found Jason before Timothy?) Tim knew the answer to this question. Robin would have done his damn duty. Would have saved Jason Finch, gone back for the younger, and gotten out way before the building began collapsing. If he had only found Jason first, not Timothy...

No. Tim wasn't going to blame a 6 year old boy for killing Jason, just because he was found first. It was wrong. It made Tim feel dirty, wrong. It made Tim want to have a shower. It made Tim want to die.

Tim's first session with doctor Lance was humiliating for the boy. They talked all about feelings, growing up, rivalries with peers, (in other words, 'boys will be boys', thought Tim bitterly.) and how Tim shouldn't blame himself, how he should do breathing exercises ("I know how to breath, ive been doing it for over 15 years!) and a humiliating discussion about controlling his emotions. He overheard the conversation with Bruce after about it going well. So much for patient confidentiality. Tim returned for the next 2 and a half months or so, and after three hours of therapy every week, he finally came to terms with what he had done. He accepted it, though it was grueling, and stressful. His arm took a long time to heal, along with his mind. They healed at the same pace. His arm was twisted, but through help it got better and better, until it was joined together again. But it wasn't the same. It was never going to be the same.

Tim's arm stopped robin from going on patrols with batman. Nightwing took over for the boy, and he wasn't allowed to see the case they were working on. Tim decided this was unfair, and did what any other teenager in his situation would do; he waited until the cave was empty, and snuck in. This proved difficult however. Alfred must have been told not to leave Tim alone in case he tried to do exactly what he was about to try and do.

But Tim needed to get into the cave. He changed his plan to start when batman and nightwing were back and asleep.

Tim faked sleep until he heard the final door closing for the night, waited a half hour, and snuck out of his room. He went to enter the code to get into the cave, but stopped when he noticed fingerprints on an unused number. Bruce had changed the password. He knew there was a 5 in the new one...

Tim pondered every number that meant something to Bruce that contained the number five. He decided to try 8-2-5-9-5, Jason Todd's birthday. The light blipped green, allowing Tim entrance.

It was eerie, descending the elevator into a completely empty cave. Tim only ever went into the cave with batman, or when batman was already there. So he tried to ignore the paranoid sensation that came with being alone, and went to work instead.

He searched the most recent files in the batcomputer and found the case him and batman had been working on. Tim searched through some uploaded newspaper clippings, and batmans notes typed next to them, and then Tim stopped. He stopped on one article in particular, the one he already knew about so well. The story on the death of one Jason Finch in a building set to blast through 'mysterious circumstances'. Tims eyes were wide. Was Bruce investigating him... No. Batman's notes confirmed his suspicions were not true. this was the case about Harley Quinn... No. Not any more. Dick and Bruce were investigating the Joker.


	6. Chapter 6

Six:

Tim read through every file regarding the Joker, from the earliest, to the most recent. The clown terrorist had planted bombs in buildings around Gotham, most of which could be explained away as home accidents; an old woman's home with a badly installed new gas stove, and a cigarette being lit in another room. A child tripped while running with a candle, and the flame landed on the plastic covering the couch. All convenient excuses. Except for three of them.

The one early last year, with water falling on a powerboard, causing it to burst into flames instead of short circuit, and two more recent ones with no attempt to hide the fact bombs were being used. The first one being Jason Finch's building, the second being one Nightwing and Batman had investigated. They discovered through the device planted on Harley Quinn that the Joker was behind the attacks, but this made Tim question the legitimacy of the theory. Why would Joker go through so much trouble, and not let batman know it was him. Joker had said something similar once...

This rational thought escaped Tim's mind however, when he realized he finally had someone to blame for Jason's death. Joker caused the building to collapse, caused the pain Tim was doomed to suffer for the rest of his life. Someone to blame for his mistake, (although it wasn't a mistake.) someone to blame for the bad day he had. Someone to blame for his moment of madness (...that's it. Joker gas. There had to be a small dosage in there. Its so obvious now.) Tim took one last skim through the most recent files, trying to deduct a location, but froze when he heard the elevator.

Bruce emerged with fists by his side. He looked prepared to attack Tim if necessary. Tim didn't move from where he was sitting however. He was going to stand his ground. The young robin went back to his research, rapidly typing and reading for the seconds batman didnt have him.

Bruce gripped the back on the chair, spun Tim around so his ward was forced to look up at him, got close to the boys face, and gripped the arms of the chair. The look on Bruce's face was menacing. The closeness of the pair in that moment would have been twisted in the media had anyone seen it, but only worked as further evidence of Bruce's anger and desire to intimidate.

"what have you seen." Tim sat under the gaze of the man, lost for words and almost afraid. Not a sound was made by either Bruce or Tim for some time, until Tim decided he had nothing to be afraid of. It was originally his case anyway...

"everything." said Tim, standing up and looking Bruce right in the eye, giving a glare of his own. "and I'm going after joker."

Tim moved right past the man, intending to leave the cave with no issue, not expecting what happened next.

Bruce attacked Tim, forced the youth to the ground. Tim struggled under the muscular weight of Bruce Wayne, fought to get away. He was pinned to the ground with no weapon within his arms reach. Bruce gripped Tim's mouth, forced it open with one hand, digging his thumb into the bottom part of Tim's mouth to keep his jaw pried. Tim allowed his screams to escape, tried to shake Bruce's hand away from his jaw, tried to remove the hand keeping his arms immobile. Bruce slipped a pill down Tim's throat, one which caused him to become weaker and weaker, until he couldn't hold consciousness anymore.

Tim looked at his mentor from his position on the ground. "you... You bastard." moaned Tim right before his world went black.

Much later, Tim woke up suddenly. There was no time to take in his surroundings in the way he usually would. He panicked, tried to sit up, tried to move, but failed. Again, his hands were cuffed to the barred head of his bed. He wasn't alone in the room this time though. Batman and nightwing were standing there watching him, masks off. Nightwing looked worried.

"Tim. We are not going after the Joker yet. There isn't enough evidence on this case" began batman, but Tim cut him off.

"Bullshit Batman. You heard Harley. Sure these actions are unusual for the joker, but maybe that's what he's trying to manipulate you into seeing. He's trying to throw you off his back. There's something big going on here..."

Tim felt humiliated stuck to a bed, especially so when he looked at the guilt in Dicks eyes.

"Maybe, Tim. That's the key word. We can't follow the trail of this case if theres nothing to follow. We don't even know where joker is." Nightwing had genuine sympathy in his tone. It made Tim feel sick.

"Don't leave me here Bruce. What if something happens. What if the manor catches on fire!?"

Bruce sighed, and directed Nightwing out of the room. "Tim. I know this isn't... Ideal... But I'm worried. I'm so goddamned worried about you. I know I failed you. I noticed the limps, but assumed they were from the previous nights injuries. This was wrong of me Tim. So, so wrong."

...was bruce really trying to have a heart to heart talk when Tim was handcuffed to the bed, condemned from getting the vengeance he needed? So stupid, Tim thought.

"I don't know who this Finch kid was, who these new kids are, but Tim... I can help you. I want to help you. I want you to feel safe. I want you to be safe."

He was thinking about Jason Todd again. Well Tim Drake was no Jason Todd. He didn't act on impulse, or utilize brute strength. He thought his decisions out, considered his options. Used his head... Except for the time he killed Jason Finch of course. No, Tim was no Jason Todd. He was better than the dead Robin. That's why Jason was dead, and Tim was alive.

"you can't keep me here Bruce. I promise I won't do anything bad. Just... Please let me go." Bruce shook his head and began backing out of the door.

"You promised me when you became Robin that you would fight by batmans values, Robins values. You killed someone, and now I can't trust you. I'm sorry Tim, but it has to be this way."

Tim's eyes widened... He was seriously going to leave Tim there, handcuffed to his bed. "batman... Please no, please, please, please don't leave me here batman. Bruce. BRUCE!" and then batman was gone.

Tim sat in his bed, eyes wet from fighting the tears of frustration that threatened to come out. He sat there for some time, the exact amount he wasn't sure of, before he finally drifted into sleep.

He dreamed of riches, saw gold, silver, expensive watches. New gas stoves, couches so new the plastic was still on them. A building that had been built such a short amount of time ago. Tim saw flames, hell fire. Heard explosions. Heard a laugh. Tim opened his eyes and tried to sit up, before laying down again because of his restraints. All of the jokers assumed terrorist plots were done on new properties, rich peoples homes, anything that hid the darkness of Gotham, made the town seem better than it was... Why didn't he see it before...

Tim started calling out to Alfred, screamed for the man. Alfred calmly entered Tim's room, trying not to look at the boy.

"look... Tim... I'm sorry about this arrangement, but there is truly nothing I can do about it. I have no key. I apologize sir, I really would like to change your current" and then Tim cut in.

"Alfred, shut up. There is a plot behind the recent 'mishaps' where buildings have burnt down, one batman doesn't know about, and I don't understand how he didn't see it. Maybe it was because of joker and his history and all, but it's so obvious. All of the buildings; they were either new or from rich men and women, their houses, their buildings, and batman doesn't know. He needs this lead Alfred, if we're ever going to get the joker."

Alfred had a thunderstruck look on his face.

"My word master Timothy. How could Bruce have missed that!" and the man ran from Tim's room, as if afraid the joker could turn up at any second.

Alfred got in contact with Batman, recounting all information he had heard from Tim over the blazing roar of a new fire they were currently at. There had been three terrorist movements that night, all an hour and a half apart in the time the blazes began, all done in a fashion similar to the building Jason Finch was killed in. Batman hung up on Alfred when all of the information was received, and Alfred sat at the dining table, obviously afraid that the joker could turn up there at any moment.

The next day, the previous nights fires were plastered all over the news. Tim was still restrained to his bed, only being allowed to move when Bruce came in and removed the handcuffs himself. When Bruce did this, he kept an eye on Tim for as long as he was in the house.

So Tim escaped his eye for more than two minutes and jumped out of his window in a hoodie and sunglasses, and walked about the nearest town centre going nowhere. He let his feet take him wherever they wanted. They took him to a park first, where he sat on a bench, and watched the children on the playground. Their parents watched them, occasionally giving Tim greasy looks, like Tim wasn't invited there. Well it was really his feet which took him there... And it's not like they own the place, just because they're mothers...

Tim stood up, and continued to walk. He walked away the day, stopping for the occasional rest and nothing else.

An hour before he wanted to be back at the manor, Tim found his feet had brought him to a cemetery. He looked in, knowing what he was about to see; he saw what was left of the Finch family. Mr Finch wasn't holding Timothy this time. This time, the pair were next to each other, kneeling of the grave of Jason, their dead son and brother.

Tim stared and watched them, saw the impact of his actions. Felt terrible. Tim took off his sunglasses, and then Mr finch looked up at Tim standing at the gate, made eye contact with the stranger. Tim gave him a small wave, and Mr Finch returned the gesture as if they had met before, and little Timothy gave a sad wave also, a wave too old, too void of any happiness for someone so young. Then Tim turned, and went back to his home.

Batman and Nightwing were out of the cave before it was truly dark. The first building of the night had caught fire. Bruce made sure Tim was handcuffed to the bed though, still refused to let Alfred have a key to the lock.

The boy was more humiliated than he had been the previous night. He didn't expect the call so early, didn't expect to be picked up like a cardboard cutout, carried kicking and screaming as if he were a toddler to his room and handcuffed to his bed like a felon. Tim swore he heard laughter from Dick, and an ouch as Alfred pinched a nerve in his arm. Then there was the sound of an elevator, then the usually calming sound of Alfred clearing the table, and then silence. Silence for the next two hours, when Tim just sat, and thought about the look in Timothy Finch's eyes as he waved. The old, broken look.

Tim thought nothing of the doorbell, nothing of the sound of Alfred talking. He did, however panic when he heard the sound of Alfreds desperate, though hurried pleas, and the sound of something breaking over the old mans head. The clatter of heavy items being 's blood ran cold when he heard the laugh. The terrifying, blood chilling laugh, and the jersey voice of Harley Quinn.

"whatd'ya do that for? He coulda shown us a secret passage where Brucey boy might be hiding right now!"

Joker told Harley to be quiet, and explained how he would search all of the rooms. Harley offered assistance, but joker told his sweetheart how he only trusted her with guarding the door. How she was the only one smart enough. Harley swooned over the man, before he began ascending the stairs to the first floor of Bruce Wayne's manor.

He opened the door next to Tim's first; Dick Grayson's room. The room was mostly empty with nothing monetarily valuable, but filled with posters from the circus, and anything a teenage Dick Grayson was interested in, which included a few posters Bruce Wayne would never admit to ever owning, or seeing.

Joker began chanting to the tune of 'Daisy Bell' while he looked.

"Bruuuucy, Bruuuucy, dead parents and lots of nice art,

you've got money comin right outta your..."

Joker stopped as he opened Tim Drakes door. He stood there, surprised, and began laughing. Tim's face became more red and hot than it had ever been. He needed time... Always on one and a half hours...

"Hey. HEY HARLEY, come check this out!"

Harley bounded up the stairs, most likely expecting a beautiful jewel, or something otherworldly. She ran into the room and came to an abrupt stop.

"Oh my... Well now we know why Bruceys such a man of mystery. Why burn down the house mr J. We could get millions with this story!"

Joker slapped Harley with a cry of "IDIOT!", before explaining "it's not about the money, Harley dear. It's about destroying the bat. He doesn't know where we are. Doesn't know what we're doing, all he knows is when we're gonna strike next."

Joker went and sat on the bed next to Tim, leaned his hand on the boys face.

"Bruce Wayne's hobbies won't mean jack when he's dead. No matter how disturbing or peodophile-ish they are. He is just a man. Speaking of the man," Joker spoke directly to Tim now, held his chin, and tilted the young boys head up as if to kiss him, whispered "where is the big man?"

Tim put together all of his courage. "He's out. Not here. Gone to a fancy dinner or something somewhere.. But I dunno where."

Joker smiled, and turned Tim's head, inspected it. Tim needed all the time he could get... "hey, don't I know you from somewhere? Not just in the papers next to Wayne, but... Somewhere else. I can't quite put my finger on it though..."

Tim began to struggle then. Pulling hard at his restraints. Tim headbutt the Joker, forcing the man down his bed, and kicked him in the face, making him topple over the end.

Harley was at Tim's face then, hitting it over and over. Tim took his training with Jason Finch, allowed the woman to hit him, hurt him, break his nose. ("dont you hurt my pudding ya little brat!") He hoped it went on and on, hoped batman would have enough time to get there. He was going to come...

Joker took the whole pole of Tim's headboard off his bed, sliding it through the cuffs so that he had a perfectly mobile, well restrained victim for his plans. He threw the boy down the stairs, breaking his arm again. Tim was prepared this time. It didn't hurt him so much.

The look of frustration at Tim's refusal to participate in the painful part of the evening left joker in a bad mood. Tim knew he wouldn't set the house on fire yet though. Joker would wait out for the hour to be up, not breaking the one and a half hour pattern. Not for some insignificant kid.

Tim found himself bound to a chair by some rope Harley found and decided to toy with the villains before him. Batman would be there soon, he just needed time.

"This is a bit kinkier than handcuffs, don't you think?"

Joker, already annoyed at Tim, snapped at the boy. "THAT'S NOT FUNNY. I make the jokes you little shit. Like this one:"

The joker took a knife he had taken from the kitchen, and brought it down into Tim's thigh. Harley howled with laughter, a painfully fake one that hurt Tims ears, but it died down when she realised Tims eyes werent even watering. He was just looking at the knife sticking out of his leg, and then back to harley and the joker as if it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"Huh. Tough crowd." said the joker, annoyance evident in his voice. Harley quinn gave an annoying shriek of a laugh, and Joker put an arm around The clown princess of crime. ("you understand better than anyone." "aww puddin, I'll always laugh at your jokes." *smooch*)

After a half hours inspection of the rest of the house, joker returned to Harley Quinns side, and pulled something out of the pile of nonsense next to the door. A thin, shiny, long object. Tim tried to catch sight of the object, but Joker noticed and kept it out of view.

"oh this ol thing? See, Wayne kid, I was hoping to use it on good ol' Robin. You know, red shirt, yellow cape, follows bats around like a pathetic fake. See, I did this thing to another robin, and it silenced him pretty greatly. You, well you're not loud, but your silence is. You won't make a peep. No matter how" smack. "hard" smack. "I" smack "try." smack.

The crowbar went down on Tim again and again. Tim tried his hardest not to make a sound, letting only his breath be heard. Joker beat him, and beat him, and laughed when he saw what he believed to be defeat on Tim's twisted, broken face. Where is he? Where is batman?

" 5 minutes mr J." cooed Harley Quinn. Joker let one last hit in, right across Tim's jaw. Tim wouldnt have been recognizable even to his mother if she walked in then. His face was coated red, and there was a pool of Tim's blood on the floor.

"well, uh, Wayne kid... Its been fun right? I'm sorry your dad wasn't here to see it. I'm sure he would have been so proud of you."

And then Joker and Harley Quinn took their bag of tricks, ran out the door, and into the night, laughing away with no cares in their world.

Tim didn't cry. He wouldn't let Bruce or Dick see him in such a pathetic state when they came. Tim sat there, listening to the ticking of the bomb, thought about his situation. This is how Jason must have felt. Alone, trapped, hopeless. Tim didn't want to die... But he felt he deserved it. This didn't stop the feeling in his aching heart, however. He wanted batman. He wanted Bruce to come and save him. Tim looked as far behind him as he could. He saw the leg of the Wayne family friend. Alfred definitely didn't deserve to die.

"Come on Bruce." said Tim out loud, and he repeated this over and over.

Batman and nightwing were scouting the rooves in town when they saw the explosion. Everyone in town saw it light up the night. The heat from it could be felt from miles away. Batman fell to his knees, looking at the eruption of flames coming from his own house. Nightwing stood there, refusing to believe what he had just seen. He snapped i to reality, grabbed batmans arm, tried to get the man to move, just move. They needed to get back there, rendezvous with Tim and Alfred in the garden...


	7. Chapter 7

Final:

"come on Bruce" said Dick Grayson with little heart. Bruce knelt next to Alfred's grave, which was placed next to the headstones of Martha and Thomas Wayne.

Bruce rose without a word, and allowed Dick to move him to another part of the cemetery, the part where Tim's parents were, along with the youngest Drake himself.

It had been five days since Batman and Nightwing got to the Wayne manor too late, when Batman searched the rubble, found the dead body of Alfred pennyworth and later, that of Timothy Drake. It was all over the media, overshadowing the deaths in any other burnt building that night, and the next night, and the next night. ("where was Bruce Wayne." "whos next? No ones bigger than Wayne." "what will happen to the billionaire playboy now?") there were many questions asked, questions Bruce didn't want to answer. Ones Bruce couldn't answer.

Batman was right in his predictions of who would go to Tim drakes funeral. His family went to the official one, along with his extended family of Dick Grayson and the commissioners daughter. There were many dry eyes, and many pats on Bruces shoulder and condolences said; ("I'm sorry for your loss, Mr Wayne." "I could have taken Timothy from you... If only I could have afforded it." "Mr Wayne, if you need help in your business after this tragedy, i am here for you."

Justice league, young and old, went to the unofficial one on the same night. Though it was unofficial, the turnout was much larger than the one that morning. Noone was costumed however, not even Batman and Nightwing. Bruce decided the approach was more appropriate, since superheroes had to be strong, but humans could be as weak as they needed to be.

There was much less conversation at this night funeral. The longest one came from Cassie Sandsmark. It was a beautiful, personal eulogy she hadnt prepeared, one which came from her heart. There wasnt a dry eye in the house by the end of it.

Alfreds funeral was much more exclusive. He had Bruce, Dick, and Barbara. Noone more, noone less.

Bruce and Dick spent a majority of their time after that in the batcave.

Joker had become Batman and Nightwings number one target. They searched tirelessly for the villain, during the day and night, sleeping only when they couldn't possibly work any more. The duo were off the streets for the duration of their investigation. Gotham would be fine without them, but more fine without the joker.

Which is how Batman and Nightwing found themselves face to face with the joker himself in a warehouse.

Batman beat the joker, tied him to a chair. Knocked Harley Quinn out with one punch when she tried to defend her 'puddin.' Joker of course kept himself composed.

"Wow bats. One might think you had a personal vendetta against me." and then he let out another laugh.

Batman glared at the joker, nightwing behind him. Batman pulled out a handgun, held it up for the villain to see. Joker laughed even harder.

"Oh bats, we both know you would NEVER kill anyone, not even me!"

So Batman removed his mask, became Bruce Wayne. Richard Grayson followed suit. The joker stopped laughing, looked afraid. Was shot in the head. Died with an expression of fear on his face.

Dick Grayson dropped the gasoline, spread it. Bruce Wayne lit the match, and when the two of them exit the building, Bruce threw the match behind him.


End file.
